


I think I should be a little more confident

by canbreathe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (Kind of) Autistic Frisk, Child Neglect, Family Issues, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Frisk, One Shot, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 17:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14549982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canbreathe/pseuds/canbreathe
Summary: in myself, in my skin (take me home, cause i don't stand a chance in these four walls)





	I think I should be a little more confident

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: Home - Daughter

You've made a mistake.

You probably shouldn't say that as often as you do. You always manage to make another one just before you've recovered from the last one, though ~~(you never try hard enough to stop or maybe you try so hard you trip yourself up)~~. You don't know how, but something deep down inside of you always steps the wrong way, always stumbles and falls into the wrong place. _(you're pretty hopeless when it comes to anything but screwing up, and sometimes you even mess even that up as well as everything else that real, breathing people find hopelessly simple)_

 

You're sat outside on your parents' doorstep. You feel a bit ill, to be honest. ~~(you should empty out the bad in your brain, do it again and again)~~

You basically told Toriel, Asgore, Sans, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys and every other monster you (think you) cared about to fuck off and never talk to you again, in your ever so eloquent way of messing up.

You regret that a lot now.

_(you almost regret it more than anything else, to be completely honest, and you regret a lot of things.)_

 

You have no idea why you thought you'd be better off back at your parents' house. You guess you thought a sense of the usual routine would fix things; monsters were too much for you in that moment ~~(in every moment, even now just their presence digs between your vertebrae and some cruel part deep down inside of you dainty laughs wispy threats into your ears about pulling you apart into tiny little pieces, into glittering dust)~~ , when they looked off towards the sun in awe ~~(but maybe you always felt like that anyway)~~ , when you began to panic and clench your fists so hard your rough nails cut into your skin. _(you still don't know if you could even apologise right, if you could even mean it, if you even want to mean it)_

 

 

You are sat outside the front door in the somewhat warm rain, three months after the moment in blossoming spring that you shattered your only chance to start over _(you can try to pretend you're sorry for yourself but you've forgotten how to do that since the time you messed up in one too many places, however long ago that was)_ , regretting everything since then, everything that happened that let you wind up in this mess. And the salt in the wound; monsters are finally starting to show up in the city, town, whatever it is. The main paperwork is mostly already done, is what you've heard from the news ~~(to the rest of the world the monsters were dandelions; weeds to the world, glowing, bright flowers to you)~~ your parents muttered to themselves while passing by you, what you heard being yelled by them in deep, dark nights only lit by orange street lights and yellow dusted cloudy skies _(exhaust fumes burn your lungs and skin and the back of your throat, the streetlight across your window burns out your eyelids in the night and makes you half blind by morning)_.

 

The monsters have the same basic 'human' rights as you, now.

You feel sick to your stomach. You don't deserve anything at all. You're awful.

You're a horrible person, horrible in every sense of the word. You can't decide if you're a boy or a girl, you don't know if you can even be called human ~~(that's the worst insult, isn't it? to be called _h u m a n_ , because they steal and kill and scream without remorse, and if you aren't a human or a monster do you really matter, do you deserve to be called anything, are you anything at all, are you even really living anymore?)~~ and you don't even think you really want to live anymore ~~(you're pathetic and sick, dying slowly in your tumbling sleep)~~.

 

You just want to go home.

Cars on the nearby motorway drive past this house, this house in the middle of nowhere, this house that almost looks like a cute cottage from far away ~~(the house that holds spices that burn your lungs, herbs like basil poking through your tongue)~~. Your eyes are empty; your parents scorched any of the hope they'd accidentally left behind in your shallow heart to ash and watched it crumble before their swirling eyes before they started locking you out again, in the wilderness full of the trees that surround this house on almost every side.

Numbness starts to seep through your skin, brought in by the driving rain. You bring up your hands and look at your fingers, watching them move from side to side between your eyes. You would probably be sat out here in the lukewarm rain for maybe another hour or two. You'd dropped a glass, after all. They were loud and made a mess everywhere.

 

 

Your parents didn't like those things.

You didn't get any shards in your feet, you know that because there isn't any blood or pain ~~(but then again, aren't blood and pain your friends, the friends that cloud your mind beyond comprehension of the claws in your shoulders forcing you to stay still, the friends that mist the voices of the people that sew wires into your lips to make you shut up and not speak so loud and not say stupid things, the friends that helped you ignore the hands pushing your jaw open and closed, to force whatever was on your plate down your throat, the friends that distract you from the fingers that pull your eyes away from the flickering, soft lights and push your pupils away from other people's eyes)~~.

 

 

Time never seemed to be on your side; it slipped through your fingers like bad words from your mouth, like nightmares from the bad thoughts that lurk in dark corners ~~(there aren't any corners outside, luckily)~~.

 

It hurts sometimes. You grow and change and warp and forget too fast to fix anything at all, your heart bleeds too much from every little graze ( ~~and wound and cut, dozens, hundreds, thousands)~~ that scours your insides and gets hurt too much by the tiny little things, never getting to fully heal before getting lashed out at again. It feels you're constantly fighting _something_ , gathering up the energy to try to fight the enemy again only to waste away and crumble into the wind with your first step forward _(just like every other time you tried; why do you even bother anymore? your heavy, metal sword melts in the air and your chain mail armour rusts and crumbles from your torso, falling to ashes at your feet and the soles of your boots peel off just from staring too long into the eyes of whoever you're supposed to try and fight this time, because when you search too long for something in their eyes you get screamed at a moment later)_. It's so tiring, and it hurts so much ~~(why do you keep doing this? Is it even worth it anymore?)~~.

 

You're very tired, and you're very sick ~~(sick, sicker, sickest, something scarred; something staining)~~. You curl up on the doorstep _(you're so small that it doesn't even take any effort to pull in all your limbs)_ , defeated by this mess you've made that taunts you by dancing between your eyes, this mess that has angry shards digging deeper into your feet the further you try to run.

 

 

The rain doesn't feel so warm anymore.

 

 

Your eyes start to blur as you lie down on the concrete slab outside of the door, defeated, as you watch the cars on the motorway speed past, getting away from this house that you aren't sure even really exists. ~~(all a fantasy far, _far_ away, something here inside your head is awake but always dreaming)~~ You're shivering, and it's only when the motorway is a blurry, grey mush in-between smudged towering green pillars, when almost warm liquid starts to pour out from your eyes, over your nose from one side and then over your frozen left cheek, that you realise you're crying. ~~(maybe it's you, that's dreaming but unable to wake up, maybe it's not)~~

You shake as you begin to laugh ~~(you never stopped shaking, from the moment they first yelled at you, your hands quaked and never ceased)~~ , your arms ice cold from your soaked jumper, scratching against your skin where your stubby fingernails dig into the worn fabric.

 

Not even Chara's here with you anymore; they were with you, staring at the sun with an emotion you couldn't place, and as you ran away from your one chance of escape they seemed to evaporate from your every cell and settle back to where they belonged; with their family. ~~(far away from the likes of you)~~

Even if they were still somehow with you, they haven't even let out a breath in your direction ~~(maybe they glared at you and never stopped glaring and you just got used to their disapproving shadow cursing you; cursing your birth to what they wished would be your death)~~ since that moment you turned away.

 

The sky blends in with the road and the road with the trees; you can't tell where any of this mess stops or starts, you're hopeless in every sense of the word and you deserve this fate, you never wanted it but you asked for it and this is what you got, because if you ask for something you usually ~~(don't)~~ get it. _(your ashy, burned out heart seems to crumble away between your trembling finger tips)_

A brief hiccup jumps from the depths of your lungs, and you force yourself to breathe more slowly, because you can't afford to be any more miserable when you already have practically a library of mistakes all locked up in your head, patiently waiting to be reviewed and scrutinised, to beat yourself up with even more ~~(because you can't seem to get enough of screaming at yourself for mistakes that you probably never had control over anyway, apparently)~~.

A slow breath leaves your lungs, another pit of unresolved emotions settling in your stomach. ~~(you had control over every mistake you've ever made, let that fact settle in the back of your throat and then when you can't hold yourself up under the suffocating night, claw at your insides and hurt yourself even more without ever feeling whatever is lodged in your throat finally clear)~~ Your fingers feel slightly numb. ~~(it's what you are, a fuzzy patch of reality that deserves to be swallowed up whole by your own mistakes and never be seen again)~~

Paper-thin blades of your scolding determination dig between each of your vertebrae, quietly threatening to pulling you apart, and the splinters of it burn under your nails, like shards of boiling glass. Even it knows to leave you, because being anywhere close to your heart is a death sentence. It almost hurts ~~(to acknowledge it, to feel the life claw its way out of you)~~. ~~(it sears its path out of your body into your flesh, to remind you that you will never get it back, that there will always be something that you cannot control)~~

You can't cry anymore. It hurts more to let go of all this than it does to bury more of it away for a little longer.

 

 

You let yourself become limp, let your limbs slump, let them hang slightly off the stone you lay on and you let yourself begin to drift _(drift away deep into dreams of darkness, you could 'slip away' with this kind of mindset and just stop, and your family would be none the wiser as your 'parents' buried you wherever they saw fit ~~(t h e  r u b b i s h d u m p an icy part of you says, whispering curses into your ears)~~ )_ into sleep _(you were always kind of tired anyway from this draining hell, you never had enough energy to even really try to live anyway)_. The rain falling from the sky seems to wash all of your soft colours away, brushing them over the glistening concrete you lay on and into the soft earth beneath your trembling fingertips, real colour for nature to feed from and for flowers to blossom with and if you do it right maybe when your skeleton is all that's left behind life will leave you be, let you finally rest and leave behind all the hatred you buried deep in your bones; hatred you tried to hide it from everyone but most of all yourself, because you want to forget this cracked shell you've become, you still want to pretend (to yourself, you aren't fooling anyone else) that you can live and that you're something whole, like everyone else out there who isn't shattered into pieces like you.

 

 

_(home is too much to hope for, you knew this with the very first step you took as you turned away from this place, when you took your first step up towards the mountain and when you took your very first shuddering breath in this world)._

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I haven't posted anything in a reallllly long time! I need to post something soon, or get into the habit of it more.  
> Anyways! This started out as some weird vent/ idea thing, and it grew from there (no surprise that it's inspired by another song :p)  
> (Oh, I specifically mentioned basil in the fic because it means 'Hate', I was planning to use yellow carnations as well but that didn't really fit unfortunately)


End file.
